


time flies (i'll be yours for the weekend, 'tis the damn season)

by ttoast_toast



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Bittersweet, But it's sad, Christmas fic, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, I genuinely don't know how to tag this, I speedran this, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, M/M, What Have I Done, based off of 'tis the damn season by taylor swift, but i made it semishira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttoast_toast/pseuds/ttoast_toast
Summary: It takes him a split-second to make a whimsical decision that might be the worst one he’s made in his entire life.---(or: even if it’s just for a little while, semi wants to have what he could have had. shirabu, too.)
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	time flies (i'll be yours for the weekend, 'tis the damn season)

**Author's Note:**

> when i tell you i speedran this, i mean i S P E E D R A N this
> 
> hopefully it doesn't seem too rushed/ooc aefhiuljsdkzn
> 
> fic is based off of (+ title is from): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuvhOD-mP8M

**FRIDAY**

“I’m home!”

“Eita!”

Semi smiles, hearing his mother’s familiar voice chiming through his childhood house. With a grunt, he lugs his suitcase through the doorway and starts taking off his winter coat, shaking some stray snowflakes from his hair as he does so.

His mother appears in the entryway, all bright smiles and comforting warmth, and wraps her arms around him in a big hug, fussing over him and hurling question after question at him (“Have you even been eating properly? I taught you how to do laundry the _right_ way, didn’t I? Oh my, your apartment better not look like a pig’s sty!”) that Semi answers adequately. Semi doesn’t fit as cozily into her arms as he did as a child, growing in height over the years until he was a full head taller than her, so he tucks his mother’s head under his chin and squeezes her reassuringly.

He’s home for the holidays, the cold outside leaving goosebumps on his skin and the snow falling in wisps onto the ground. Semi’s glad to be home—seeing his parents and visiting the town he knows so well—but the reality is that he wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for his mother berating him over the phone, saying that he was so absorbed in his work he had no time left for himself.

“I know you’re working hard,” she had chastised, her voice sounding tinny over the receiver. “And I know how much your music means to you. But music is art, no? How are you meant to make music if all you’re doing is cooping yourself up in a room? If all you’re thinking about is work?”

She had had a point—he _was_ going through a creative block—so he had come back. But if Semi was being completely honest with himself, that wasn’t the only reason for his visit.

He makes his way upstairs to his childhood bedroom, posters of various bands all over the walls and different trinkets thrown haphazardly onto his desk. It looks exactly like he had left it, as if time had stood still for this small amount of space.

He flops onto his bed, unlocking his phone and opening up to a picture Tendou had sent him, its accompanying text reading: “so holed up with work, semisemi?? go out and have some fun instead!!!”

The redhead in question was making a face in the corner of the photo and staring at the camera, Ushijima behind him with his gaze directed towards Goshiki. The black-haired spiker seemed to not have even been aware that the picture was being taken, his eyes almost sparkling as he chattered at Ushijima, likely about volleyball. Kawanishi was eyeing Tendou, evidently amused, and right next to him…

Well. Semi thinks that there might not be anything quite as picturesque as Shirabu, in a dark coat and a plaid scarf, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else.

**• • •**

Semi’s only home for the weekend, having arrived at Miyagi on Friday afternoon, so he decides to take a page from Tendou’s book and go outside, have some fun and forget about work for a few days. Who knows? Something could happen on this trip that could launch him out of his creative block.

His feet lead him to the convenience store, and he grabs onigiri and hot chocolate. The cashier has the music in her earphones turned up so loud that Semi can hear it, but after a while of trying to grab her attention he’s able to pay for his food and settle into one of the many empty booths near the window, checking his social media and watching the snow fall into white clumps on the street. Freezing air rushes in as someone opens the door to enter the shop, but Semi doesn’t think much of it until—

“Semi-san?”

Semi swivels to see Shirabu standing _right there_ —he’s _right there_ —in a dark coat and a plaid scarf, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else, and thinks that Tendou’s picture did nothing justice for how much Shirabu had grown.

The last time they had seen each other in person was Semi’s third-year graduation, the ash blond parting with a simple “take care” and turning his back on the other boy, not daring to turn back around. Since then, time had flown past them both. Shirabu’s grown just a little taller, filled out a little bit more—his jaw that littlest bit sharper and his shoulders that littlest bit broader. Even so, he’s still got that stupid haircut that Semi (reluctantly) finds unreasonably attractive. His eyes still hold that inner storm to them that Semi had wanted to get lost in all those years ago but had held himself back from. He thinks now, as he looks into those pools of copper again for the first time in years, that nothing has changed. He still wants to get lost in them. He still holds himself back.

Instead, he lets out a slightly surprised “Shirabu. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” the other boy nods slightly. “What are you doing here? Tendou said you weren’t coming home for the holidays.”

Semi shrugs. “Changed my mind, I guess. I’m going back to Tokyo on Monday morning, anyway.”

Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “It’s Friday today. You’re just here for the weekend, then.”

And suddenly they seem distant, the few metres of space between them stretching across miles and miles. An old ache seeps itself into Semi’s bones, twisting his heart painfully, resurfacing from where he had buried it and pretended it didn’t exist. Semi knows what it is—knows why it’s there. He knows that Shirabu’s got that ache, too.

It’s a what-could’ve-been, the two of them. Semi remembers high school, the volleyball team at Shiratorizawa. Remembers the way his words stuttered, remembers how his heart felt as it dropped from his chest all the way down to his feet and how it felt as it climbed so far up his throat he could have choked on it. He remembers the way heat crawled to his cheeks, remembers a warm, fluttering feeling prickling at his stomach like how the cold prickles at his skin now.

He remembers Shirabu, too. One too many looks in Semi’s direction, always moving just a tad bit closer than strictly necessary, stares lasting just a second too long.

He remembers _them_ , loosely lacing their fingers together, only during the darkest, quietest nights on training camps when it felt as though time could have stopped for them.

It’s a what-could’ve-been, the two of them. Semi thinks that maybe it could’ve been something, if they weren’t so scared of their own feelings, if they were given a little more time, if they had said something directly. The reality is that them _leaving_ it all at a what-could’ve-been was both of their faults.

But Shirabu’s right there in front of him now, so close that Semi could reach out and touch him— _kiss_ him—if he wanted to. He’s _so_ close but so far, and all Semi wants to do is cross the few metres it would take to get to Shirabu, cross the miles that were put between them when Semi went to Tokyo _one day_ after graduation. Even if it’s just for a little while, Semi wants to have what he could have had.

It takes him a split-second to make a whimsical decision that might be the worst one he’s made in his entire life.

“Well, I _have_ like three days before I need to leave again.”

And that’s it: he’s leaving in three days. They can’t do anything with three days. It’s been years—Semi genuinely doesn’t even know if Shirabu still feels the way they did in high school. Semi chose to leave, chose the path he’s currently on. He’s got no right to ask for a peek at the other option he could have picked.

But Semi’s selfish, wants to see just what that road not taken would have lead to, wants to know what he could have had. Call it the holiday season making him more sentimental than usual, but he wants to _have_ that, even if it’s just for a weekend. And as he watches Shirabu’s gaze shift just that littlest bit, he thinks that Shirabu might be selfish, too.

“What does that imply?” there’s something indistinguishable in Shirabu’s voice, but the other boy is stepping closer, hesitant steps crossing the small distance between them.

Semi stands up from his seat, swallowing almost nervously, Shirabu’s gaze locking him in place. His heart climbs from his chest up to his throat, and he chokes out his next words. “Whatever you want it to imply.”

And it’s at that that Shirabu pulls him down by the collar and connects their lips together into their first kiss, and it’s more than Semi’s ever imagined it could be.

The reality is that them leaving it all at a what-could’ve-been was both of their faults, even if neither of them would be ones to admit it aloud. But Semi thinks, as they’re sharing their first kiss on an unreasonably cold evening inside a deserted convenience store, that just for a few days, they could call it even.

For a moment, a brief window in a constantly-spinning world, time stops flying.

**• • •**

**SATURDAY**

“Where are we even going?” Shirabu asks, sliding into the passenger seat of Semi’s parents’ car. He’s wearing a dark coat and a plaid scarf and an expression saying that he would rather be anywhere else, but Semi knows better.

“You’ll see.”

The short drive is spent in comfortable silence, occasionally punctured by a sarcastic comment from Shirabu and an equally acerbic response from Semi. Their hometown passes, the outside scenery turning into a blur, and time flies past them. Soon enough, they’re pulling up at their destination, and Shirabu is looking at him incredulously.

“ _Ice skating_? Seriously?”

“What?” Semi replies, feigning innocence, though he can’t stop a corner of his lips from raising.

“You _know_ I can’t skate, Semi-san.”

“Do I?” Semi’s grinning now, unable to help the wide smile stretching across his face. “I believe I was told to erase from my memory you falling onto your ass for an hour straight at a volleyball club bonding time, so no, I actually don’t know that you can’t skate.”

“And you took us to an outdoor rink. What an ass.”

“Why thank you, I could say the same to you.”

Shirabu grumbles incoherently under his breath for a few seconds, but ultimately shoots Semi a glare and starts getting out of the car. “You know what, fine. I’ll show you how to skate like a fucking pro.”

Semi snickers, following after Shirabu. In a few minutes, they’re on the ice with their rented skates, Shirabu wobbling dangerously and Semi gliding across the ice, unable to keep the smirk off of his face while Shirabu glowers at him.

“How do you even know how to skate, anyway?” the copper-haired boy says petulantly, grabbing onto a tree to steady himself.

Semi hums. “I had classes. My parents signed me up for a lot of sports when I was a kid.” he half shrugs. “Only volleyball really stuck, though, in the end.”

Then, seeing Shirabu quivering dangerously on the ice, he chuckles and reaches out a hand. “Here. Grab onto me.”

“I don’t need your _help_.”

“Maybe tell me that when you don’t look like you’re about to fall any second.”

And so, Shirabu takes his hand, sending a glare his way as he does so. And so, they stumble over the rink with each other, sometimes falling onto the ice, always falling deeper into the feeling they’re both to scared to name. And so, time stops flying for just a moment, allowing them this brief window in a constantly-spinning world to just have _this_ —to just have each other, to take a peek at the road not taken.

Semi thinks that that road looks really good right now. But he made his choice long ago.

For just this fleeting juncture, though, he allows himself this moment. He allows himself _Shirabu_.

**• • •**

After a while, they step off the ice, returning their rented skates. It’s getting later in the day, and as such, it must be getting colder, but Semi’s so filled with warmth that he barely feels the chill nipping at his skin. They get back into his parents’ car, and Shirabu’s _right there_ , and Semi wants to _kiss_ him, so he does.

They get dinner at a small but quaint ramen house, all the while throwing joking jabs and half-hearted insults that neither of them really mean. They fight over the bill, Semi eventually throwing his credit card down triumphantly, and make their way back to Semi’s parents’ house, both filled to the brim with good ramen and a fluttering warmth. Throwing themselves onto Semi’s bed, Semi pulls up his laptop for them to watch some bad Christmas movies that they inevitably will make snide comments on, and that’s how their evening is spent: wrapped up in each other, savouring the warmth created on that freezing, snowy night, allowing themselves that moment in time to indulge—even if just temporarily—in a what-could’ve-been.

Shirabu is the first to fall asleep, Semi only noticing the heavy weight on his shoulder when he hears no more judgemental movie commentary from the other. He chuckles and closes his computer, setting it aside and snuggling under the blankets, throwing his arms around Shirabu.

Tomorrow is his last day— _their_ last day. Tomorrow he’ll have to face reality: that he got his what-could’ve-been, that he got his peek at the road not taken, that they got their small moment that time allowed them to have. But for now, Shirabu’s _right there_ , so Semi hugs him closer and burrows his face into that stupid haircut he (reluctantly) finds unreasonably attractive, his childhood bed warmer than he ever remembers it being.

**• • •**

**SUNDAY**

Semi wakes first, but a glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him that they’ve slept in half the day already. Shirabu’s still there, wrapped up in his arms, his breathing even and his eyes closed, and Semi wants it all just a little longer, so he closes his eyes and tries to find sleep again.

It doesn’t come, and soon enough, he feels Shirabu stir awake in his arms. Neither of them make to move away. The air is still, the house is silent. It’s warm under the blankets, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. For a moment, time stops flying.

Shirabu’s voice cuts through the tranquility, a soft whisper that Semi wouldn’t have been able to hear had he not been right next to the other boy: so delicate, so silent, like the snow outside that hasn’t stopped falling. As if he were afraid that the smallest movement, the quietest whisper, would make time start flying again.

“I won’t ask you to stay.”

And with that, he untangles himself from Semi and rises from the warmest bed Semi’s ever known. The moment breaks. Time starts flying again.

**• • •**

They spend the day lazily, making hot chocolate and ignoring Shirabu’s words from that morning. Semi thinks that since he’s only getting a little bit more of this, he might as well spend that little bit more focusing on what he can still have for a while rather than wallowing in the ache he’s long grown used to.

It’s well into the evening when Shirabu rises from where they were idling about on the couch, draping his dark coat over himself and throwing his plaid scarf around his neck. “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

Semi raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “You planned something?”

“You’ll see.”

Sure enough, Shirabu did plan something. The copper-haired boy drives Semi’s parents’ car into an open area, and they step out to see rainbow lights strewn about, the trees lining the road twinkling with reds and greens and blues and purples. It colours the snow on the ground, turning it iridescent, and there’s a huge Christmas tree in the midst of it all, complete with ornaments and stringing lights and a gleaming gold star right at the top.

It’s beautiful. Snowflakes fall into Shirabu’s hair, running their soft hands through it, and the lights reflect his eyes, colouring the copper storm residing in them with starlight. For just a moment, Semi allows himself to get lost in them. For just a moment, time stops flying.

“You took me to see Christmas lights?” it comes out soft, quiet.

Shirabu hums, glancing at him briefly. “I thought it would be fitting.”

That familiar ache is back, risen to the forefront of his mind from where Semi had tamped it down, but Semi smiles through it. “Yeah? Why?”

“Well.” Shirabu doesn’t grace him with an answer, and instead starts walking, the shimmering lights moving to surround him on all sides. The ash blond follows him. Time starts flying again. Semi gets the feeling that it won’t be stopping for them anymore.

They stay like that for a while, silently walking through the glistening colours. There’s a million things Semi could say, but nothing feels enough. There’s nothing he can think of that could encompass everything he wants to express to Shirabu, nothing he can think of that could even come close to what he feels. Unsaid words hang still in the moving air, filling up all the crevices of the spaces between them.

“It’s fitting, because,” Shirabu finally says after a while, pausing in his tracks. Semi pauses with him. Time keeps flying. “Because you’re the type of person that won’t ever stop until you get to where you wanna be—until you make it. This weekend was just a brief divergence from that.” the copper-haired boy shrugs, but there’s something heavy in the set of his shoulders that make the casual gesture feel somber. “Maybe not even a divergence. You wouldn’t come back just ‘cause. You probably visited in the first place because of something to do with your work.”

Shirabu turns to face Semi straightforwardly, that constant storm brewing in his eyes, the reflection from the multicoloured lights making them look like a firework show. “I won’t ask you to stay, because you’re meant for bigger things than staying—than this town. Than me.”

He looks back towards the lights, breaking eye contact with Semi. “So you’re gonna leave, but you’re gonna leave with a bang. That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Shirabu’s not wrong—frankly, he’s right about all of it. Suddenly feeling like an asshole, Semi averts his gaze back to the gleaming colours as well, an old, familiar ache climbing up his throat. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t apologize.” Shirabu cuts in quickly. “This…whatever. It’s both of our faults. We’re even. The fact that we—that _I_ could have this much is already…”

He swallows, trailing off, then huffs a bittersweet laugh. “Well. Even if it’s not enough, it kinda has to be enough, huh?”

And Semi _has_ to say something, after all of that, but no words are coming to him. There are no words he could ever say that would adequately convey everything he needs to, not a single song he could sing that would ever be quite enough. His mind runs through all the possibilities, all the words he can think of that could come out of his mouth, but none of it would ever be _quite_ enough.

The still silence hangs in the moving air for a moment longer, before Shirabu starts walking again, this time back towards the direction of Semi’s parents’ car. “Come on, Semi-san. It’s getting late.”

Semi drives Shirabu back to the copper-haired boy’s own house, the ride silent and the air filled with that goddamn _ache_ and the words that Semi needs to say but just _can’t find_. They pull up into Shirabu’s driveway, and Shirabu’s _right there_ —for the last time, he’s _right there_ —and it takes Semi a split-second to make a whimsical decision that might be the worst one he’s made in his entire life.

Words fail him, so he pulls Shirabu down by the collar and connects their lips together into their last kiss. Time doesn’t stop flying. Not for them.

**• • •**

**_FRIDAY, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

**_THIRD-YEAR GRADUATION_ **

_Shirabu dodges the throngs of crying students saying goodbye to the third-years they knew personally, eager to get back to his dorm room since the celebrations and formalities were over. He had wished the volleyball club third-years good luck earlier on in the day, and he’d rather not hang around to see everyone’s emotions on full display, or to linger in the hallways and be subject to various inspirational speeches. The actuality is that he’s got no reason_ not _to go back to his dorm._

_Well. Except that he’s been avoiding Semi all day. Not that he’d admit it out loud._

_Evidently, though, luck is never on his side, and he bumps right into the one person he had been trying to avoid._

_“Shirabu?”_

_Shirabu tamps down on a sigh, pursing his lips. “Semi-san.”_

_The ash blond is right there in front of him now, but Shirabu knows that that wouldn’t be for much longer. It’s why he’s been avoiding him all day—to try and bypass the inevitable goodbye, to try and sidestep the inevitable “I’m sorry” of leaving this what-could’ve-been just as a what-could’ve-been. Shirabu thinks of Semi apologizing to him and kind of feels sick._

_He knows that they could never be. Shirabu is very well aware of Semi’s dreams to make it in the music industry, knows just how electrifying the other boy is. And Shirabu can pretend to be spiteful and caustic about it, can daydream about Semi staying with him in Miyagi all he wants, but ultimately, he knows that this high school what-could’ve-been will stay as a high school what-could’ve-been. Ultimately, Semi’s meant for stardom. Ultimately, Shirabu can’t—no matter how much he wants to—feel bitter about it._

_The reality is that it’s both of their faults. Semi would leave eventually, off to chase after the life he had been dreaming of, but Shirabu hadn’t been willing to try while they_ had _time, scared of the future, of what he was feeling, of the heartbreak at the end of the road. He thinks now that it was futile to try and run from it, that the “defence mechanism” he had put in to save himself the pain was nothing more than just a flimsy paper wall around his emotions that Semi barged down easily._

_His heart aches and shatters, and he can’t even feel mad about it, because he was the one who gave it to Semi, anyway._

_They’ll walk down different roads, lead different paths in the long run. That they had these two years of time was already more than what should’ve been given._

_Still, that doesn’t make it ache any less. Shirabu resolutely keeps his eyes trained on the wall behind Semi, waiting for the “I’m sorry, I hope you understand,” except—_

_Except it never comes. Semi just briefly puts a hand on his shoulder, lets out a “take care,” and walks away._

_For a moment, Shirabu is frozen in place like ice, but he snaps out of it enough to whip around and watch Semi’s retreating back as it grows further and further away, disappearing into the crowd of people. He’s leaving, escaping the confines of this small town, flying away and out of Shirabu’s grasp. And Shirabu is watching him leave._

_He could reach out, clamour a “wait” or maybe even a “stay.” But that’s selfish. Semi could never be happy by staying. Semi is meant for bigger things, greater things,_ crazier _things._

_So Shirabu bites it all back and watches him leave. Semi doesn’t look back._

**• • •**

**MONDAY**

It’s morning, the snow settling down and leaving only a freezing chill to the air when Semi lugs his suitcase out through the doorway with a grunt. It’s a second later when he sees Shirabu waiting in front of his house, in a dark coat and a plaid scarf, what must be the copper-haired boy’s car parked in Semi’s driveway.

Shirabu doesn’t grace him with a greeting, instead simply opting for a muttered “come on, I’ll send you to the train station” before making his way to the driver’s seat, the fallen snow crunching under his boots.

There’s a heavy kind of silence that befalls them during the drive, an ache settling deep inside both of their bones along with the throbbing cold of the day. Semi can’t find it in himself to break it. He wouldn’t be able to find the words, anyway.

They go through the formalities at the train station mechanically, and it’s only when they’re standing on the platform, waiting for Semi’s train, that Shirabu starts talking.

“Good luck.” he says, sounding distant and faraway, decidedly not looking at Semi. “I hope you make it.”

And suddenly Shirabu looks like he might cry, and the words that Semi couldn’t find the night before come rushing to him in a snowstorm of copper and starlight.

“Shirabu,” his own voice comes out quivering, like a leaf in the wind, and he swallows before continuing. “I lo—”

“ _Don’t_.” Shirabu’s voice cracks, and Semi snaps his mouth shut.

A few more moments pass; time flies a little bit more. Semi sees his train in the distance, and he has to say something— _anything_ —can’t just leave it here. It only takes a split-second for the words to form and for him to blurt them out: “I won’t ask you to wait.”

Semi’s train pulls up to where they’re standing on the platform, glowing headlights and rushing speed, and he briefly puts his hand on Shirabu’s shoulder, letting out a “take care” before walking towards the doors.

He doesn’t look back. Shirabu doesn’t call out to him.

And so, Semi goes back to Tokyo, to the “friends” that could never be as much of friends to him as the Shiratorizawa volleyball team, to the people who will write articles and books about him if he ever makes it. He runs and escapes from the confines of his small hometown through song after song and concert after concert, resolutely leaving it all behind him.

But he knows he can only run so far, and some of it inevitably catches up to him. The ache grows and grows until his heart shatters and breaks, and the beds he sleep in are never quite as warm as he’d like them to be, a throbbing cold settling deep inside his bones. He gets the feeling that it’ll stay.

In any case, though, he chose this road a long time ago. It’s all fair. He got his taste of the what-could’ve-been, got his peek at the road not taken. And it aches and aches and breaks and breaks, but he knows that that’s the path he would never have taken in the end. That path leads to warmth, familiarity, _Shirabu_ , but Semi knows that he could never have been happy if that’s the road he had chosen. He could never have been happy before first getting a taste of what the world had to offer.

And so, Semi goes back to Tokyo, never looking back, and soon enough there are people of all kinds knocking on his door, wanting to work with the guy who wrote such bittersweet, aching songs it makes a throbbing cold settle deep into their bones, snow falling and gathering into the pits of their stomachs. Soon enough, there are people of all kinds commenting on his music, listening to his music, _crying_ over his music. Soon enough, there are people of all kinds wondering _who_ the guy in a dark coat and a plaid scarf that Semi writes about so sentimentally, so emotionally, is.

And so, time keeps flying. And so, it doesn’t stop for them.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are always appreciated :>
> 
> (also hmu on twitter @/toastoast_ if you wanna scream about haikyuu w me lmao)


End file.
